


kiss me (among other things)

by soapyconnor



Series: wolf, stag, dove [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Period Sex, Smut, Trans Male Character, its like . . . not very descriptive but its there, trans john marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24903259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: Camp was quiet, the only sounds being the clucking of the chickens and the crackling of the campfires. John glanced at Arthur, who’s chin was pressed against his chest, his hat obscuring his gaze. Arthur’s arm was heavy around John’s shoulders, their bodies warm and comfortably situated together. John leaned his head back against Arthur’s arm, slowly blinking at him as his eyes slowly slid shut, the warmth from the fire making him sleepy.
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Series: wolf, stag, dove [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1432699
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	kiss me (among other things)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! it's been a while since i've added a fic to this series. i've kind of missed it and i havent been writing a lot lately, so i thought something nice and short would be good. don't like it, don't read it.

Camp was quiet, the only sounds being the clucking of the chickens and the crackling of the campfires. John glanced at Arthur, who’s chin was pressed against his chest, his hat obscuring his gaze. Arthur’s arm was heavy around John’s shoulders, their bodies warm and comfortably situated together. John leaned his head back against Arthur’s arm, slowly blinking at him as his eyes slowly slid shut, the warmth from the fire making him sleepy.

Sitting here with Arthur felt good—comfortable. But if he allowed either of them to fall asleep here instead of heading back to their tent, they would both regret it tomorrow. Gently, he nudged his elbow into Arthur’s side, his eyes still closed. He listened as Arthur let out a soft grunt, but didn’t move. So, John nudged him again.

“Christ, Marston,” Arthur murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “Stop movin’.”

John’s eyes opened a bit, narrowing them at him. He flicked the brim of Arthur’s hat. “I’m tryin’ to get you to get up.”

“I’m comfortable.”

John rolled his eyes. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow.”

There was a pause, before Arthur let out a resigned sigh, and began to climb to his feet. John followed him, clasping his hand as they leaned against each other. Everyone was asleep, except for the sentinels, and John found himself wanting to take advantage.

Tarps obscured their cots from view, and they slipped between the gaps. Candle light allowed them to find their way to their cot and sit down, where they began to remove their boots and get ready for bed.

Finding himself down to his union suit, John turned and looked to Arthur, who was near a similar state. Arthur caught him staring and cocked an eyebrow. “What you staring at?”

“What’s it look like?” John leaned forward, their faces inches apart. John could smell the peppermint on Arthur’s breath from earlier, and the smoke from the fire. He placed his hand on Arthur’s knee, listening to the older man scoff. He didn’t say anything as John kissed him, only placing his hands on John’s hips as he climbed onto his lap.

John ran his fingers through Arthur’s short hair, moaning into the man’s mouth as he deepened the kiss. Arthur’s thumbs circled along his hipbones, hips coming up to meet John’s as John ground down against him.

Arthur pulled away, and began to nip and suck at John’s exposed throat. John groaned, throwing his head back, eyes fluttering shut. One hand came up to palm at John’s chest, the other beginning to pop buttons open along the union suit.

Arthur’s hand was beginning to sneak down towards John’s cunt when John’s eyes snapped open, grabbing at Arthur’s wrist. “I’m on the rag,” John said, looking down at the other man as he began to circle his thumb around John’s nipple, causing the other man to shudder.

“Like I care,” Arthur responded, before in one fluid motion he flipped them. John grunted as he landed on his back, looking down at Arthur. Arthur arched an eyebrow up at him. “What? Gonna protest?”

“No, just stunned you’re actually gonna do it.” John began to shed his union suit, shivering at the cold. John winced upon seeing the bloody mess that ran along his thighs, and he tossed his clothing aside. “Seriously, Arthur, you don’t—”

He broke off with a groan as Arthur wasted no time leaning down and licking along John’s folds. “ _Shit_ ,” John grunted, hands fisting into the blankets beneath him as Arthur went to town. It was later in his cycle, which meant when Arthur pulled away, his face wasn’t a bloody mess like it should have been. John looked down at him, and shook his head. “Fucking lunatic.”

Arthur smirked up at him, small streaks of blood covering his cheeks before he leaned down and licked at the inside of John’s thighs. John let his head fall back, slowly rolling his shoulders as Arthur went back to work, sucking and licking at John’s clit. His stubble burned a bit against his folds, scraping and scratching. John reached down, and grabbed a fistful of Arthur’s hair, dragging him up and pulling him into a kiss. “Stop making me wait.”

“Y’know,” Arthur mumbled. “Patience is a virtue.”

John kissed him hard, their teeth clacking together. “Fuck that,” John said, “You don’t like me for my _virtues_.”

Arthur hummed, his thumb circling John’s clit. For a couple of minutes, they kissed, Arthur lightly fingering John while John ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. He could taste iron on Arthur’s tongue, the sweet minty taste now gone, replaced by something much more vulgar.

A thought crossed his mind: how many women had Arthur done that too? How many women got to taste themselves on Arthur’s tongue?

John fucking hated that.

“You okay?” Arthur asked, as he inserted another finger into John. John let out a strangled groan, his head tilting back, and momentarily forgot about his thoughts. He ground down against Arthur’s thick fingers, pressing their foreheads together.

Eh, fuck it. Arthur was all John’s now. Those women only got their memories. “I’m okay,” John replied, quickly pecking him. They nuzzled their faces together, John inhaling Arthur’s scent before he slowly exhaled. John leaned back, studying Arthur’s face for a bit, before he asked, “Where’s the slick?”

Arthur pulled the bottle out of his nearby satchel, and John turned, his back pressed up against Arthur’s chest. While he’d love to cling and wrap around Arthur, this angle worked _much_ better.

John rested his head back against Arthur’s shoulders, adjusting his position on his knees as he felt one hand grasp at John’s hip. “Ready?” Arthur murmured against his skin. He didn’t wait for a reply, as he slowly began to penetrate John. John let out a startled gasp, digging his nails into Arthur’s thick thighs. Despite how many times they’ve done it, it still managed to take John’s breath away.

Arthur gave him no time to get adjusted to the intrusion; the man started to slowly rotate his hips, and John began to meet him. “Oh,” John moaned, low in his throat. “Right there.”

Arthur’s hands snaked their way around his body, starting at the trail leading to his groin, and traveling upwards to cup John’s breasts. Ever since John had Jack, Arthur had taken special interest in John’s chest. He liked to tease the buds, squeeze his breasts until milk dribbled out. John was sure even when Jack eventually weaned and didn’t need him for that anymore, Arthur’s fascination would keep him from stopping.

John turned, fisting a hand in Arthur’s hair and pulling him into a brutal kiss. The pace Arthur kept was leisurely, making sure to hit that spot that made John want to scream with pleasure. Arthur squeezed John’s breath, and he felt himself begin to lactate. “Fucker,” John gasped, arching his back as Arthur gave them another squeeze.

“You love it,” Arthur whispered against his throat.

John just grunted in return, and rolled his hips against him, letting out a soft moan as he felt heat building within his gut.

Beneath the clucking of chickens, the crackling of the campfire, and the occasional movements of the horses, there were the soft sounds of two people joining together.

“Ow! Fucker,” John groaned, yanking Jack away from his chest. A month and a half had passed since that night John and Arthur spent together, and it had ended up being the last one for quite a while. Dutch was always pulling Arthur away from some bullshit or another, leaving John alone with the company of his hand. Which, was fine. He guessed. It was just a load of horseshit.

“What’s wrong?” Abigail asked from her spot across from him, glancing up from the needlework in her hand. Most of the men were off doing something or another, leaving Abigail and John mostly alone in camp. Well, there _was_ Swanson and the girls, but they rarely bothered the two of them.

“Nothing, it’s— _shit_!” John howled, pulling Jack away again. He had swapped nipples, figuring Jack wasn’t getting anything from the one he had been on, but that shooting pain had returned. The nipple that Jack had just been on was still leaking, too. It didn’t hurt like it did when Jack’s teeth would scrape his flesh. John frowned, rubbing at his chest with one hand, even as Jack whined and reached for him.

Abigail’s eyes widened upon seeing the state of him. “Your nipples look really sore. Has he been biting you?”

“No, they just—” John rubbed at his chest, staring down at the red buds. They were incredibly sensitive to the touch, and even just the light pressure made John wince with pain. Eventually deciding he just needed to tough it out, he let Jack go back to his lunch. “They fuckin’ hurt.”

“Have they ever hurt before?” Abigail asked with a cock of her head.

“No. Not like this. Not since—” John froze, his entire body growing tense. He coughed into his fist, quickly trying to recover from the mental shock he had. He glanced at Abigail, who didn’t seem to catch his slipup. Relieved, he rolled his shoulders, and smiled awkwardly at her. “Let’s just say it’s been a while since it’s felt like that. I’m sure it’ll fade with time.”

“Well . . . just let me know if it becomes too much.” Abigail reached for Jack, and took him from John’s arms. John quickly buttoned up his shirt, ignoring the tingle of pain that raced up his spine as the cotton brushed against his sore chest. Jack whined and reached for John, but Abigail just shook her head at him. “Nuh uh, no more.”

John gave an awkward smile, and reached out, ruffling Jack’s hair. “She’s such a stickler, son,” he said, the baby looking up at him with big, bright eyes. It made John’s heart ache, somedays, that he decided he wasn’t really going to be in this child’s life. But then, he thought back to the night Jack was conceived . . .

A shudder ran up his spine, but he brushed it off, and his smile became tight. “You’ll find that out when you’re older,” he reassured his boy. Abigail rolled her eyes, and lightly shoved him, oblivious to the fact John’s mind seemed to be miles away.

Sitting in the doctor’s office in the nearest town in a dress wasn’t really how John expected his day to go. But ever since the incident with Jack and Abigail earlier, John _needed_ answers. Having to pretend to be a woman was fine, he supposed. Could be more embarrassing circumstances.

_Please don’t let it be true_ , John thought to himself, fiddling with the frills and edging of his skirt. He’d have to find someplace to change before he went back to camp—didn’t need anymore stares than he already got from members of the gang.

Excusing himself from camp and creating an excuse for why he needed to leave _right that instant_ was harder than John had initially thought. Every time he started to leave; someone waned his assistance with something. They practically _demanded_ his help, and when he said he couldn’t, they wanted to know _why_. Shit, wasn’t it just simple enough to say you needed to leave?

Apparently not.

John looked up as another young woman left the doctor’s office. She was giggling, and smiling dopily at her mother, who rose to her feet and shook her head. Her mother thanked the doctor, before the two left. John wondered about the nature of this doctor; if he was someone John should trust with finding this out.

_He’s a doctor_ , John told himself, and shook himself out. The woman behind the counter smiled reassuringly at John, and he couldn’t find it in himself to smile back. He didn’t believe in a God, but if there was one, he was praying to ‘em, hoping that God would listen just this once.

“Doctor Reid will see you now,” the lady said, breaking him out of his thoughts and motioning to the door. John’s mouth opened briefly, before he clamped it shut and nodded, rising to his feet.

The door was of heavy oak, and John let out a small grunt before he stepped inside. Doctor Reid looked up, and smiled. “Ahh, you must be Miss Marston. What seems to be the problem?” Doctor Reid motioned to the chair, and John found himself sitting down.

“I think I’m pregnant,” he said, bluntly.

Doctor Reid arched an eyebrow. “Is that so?” The doctor leaned against the counter. “May I ask, how many symptoms do you have?”

“Breast pain.”

The silence in the room was deafening. Doctor Reid’s eyebrows were near his hairline, now. “That’s it? No increased appetite, no sickness, or hysteria?”

John’s face flushed. He hadn’t gone to a doctor when he was pregnant with Jack, as the signs were noticeable when he figured it out. Now he saw why most women didn’t go to the doctor to figure it out—they were kind of an asshole. “What? You mean to tell me that one sign isn’t good enough for you to tell?”

Doctor Reid laughed. Oh, boy, was John fantasizing about his foot connecting with that man’s nuts. “There is no test to see if you’re pregnant, it’s not as simple as that. We rely on more than one symptom of pregnancy, because it’s a sure-fire way to tell if you’re actually pregnant.”

Frustrated, John retorted, “It’s been a month and a half since my boyfriend and I had sex.” The doctor flushed at John’s vulgar language. “There should be _something_. Could you . . . could you just . . .”

Doctor Reid studied John, his gaze scrutinizing. It was clear that John had gotten on this doctor’s bad side. Finally, the doctor let out a sigh. “If it would ease your anxiety, I suppose so. Now . . .” He gestured for John to unbutton the blouse, which John began to do with no protest.

With his chest exposed, Doctor Reid stepped forward and untucked the hem of the shirt from the skirt. Slowly, he began to low the chair backwards, so John was lying on his back. John worried his bottom lip between his teeth, staring up at the ceiling as the doctor’s cold hands began to poke and prod at his stomach. It felt odd, being exposed to a man he didn’t know. But he supposed if he really wanted answers . . .

John hissed through his teeth as the doctor dug his fingers in particularly hard. John shifted on the chair, flinching as the doctor continued to feel around his gut, before his hands came up and began to examine John’s chest. Finally, Doctor Reid hummed, and stepped back, going to the sink to wash his hands.

John sat up, watching the doctor warily as he began to button up the blouse. “So?” he asked, before he cleared his throat. “Am I . . .”

“It’s highly unlikely that you’re pregnant,” Doctor Reid said, finally turning around. “Your stomach is soft, no signs of tightening or expanding of the womb.” The man cocked his head. “I’m assuming you have a child whose still breast feeding, since you didn’t mention the lactation.” John’s face flushed a bit, and he nodded. “The tenderness could just be from the roughness of your child, or from feeding them too frequently. You don’t have anything to worry about, Miss Marston.”

Slowly, the tension left John’s shoulders. It’s been quite a while since that night between the two of them; if he was pregnant, surely the doctor would have felt something?

“Thank you,” John said, standing up and shoving the hem of his blouse down the skirt. “What do I owe you?”

Doctor Reid flipped his palms up. “Since your case was easy, I’ll let you go without anything. Just take care of yourself, Miss Marston.”

John licked his lips, surprised by the generosity. He nodded to the doctor again, thanking him verbally before he headed out of the doctor’s office. He stepped out into the hot sun, and would be incredibly thankful when he could get out of these heavy skirts.

He wasn’t pregnant. He hadn’t made the same mistake twice.

“You okay, son? You look a little pale.”

John brushed Hosea off. “I’m fine, Hosea. Just a little tired, I guess.” John scratched at his cheek, and adjusted himself in Lady May’s saddle. Arthur glanced at him, slowly pulling the cigarette from his lips. God, John wanted to leave over and plant one right on those chapped lips. Cuddling was all the physical connection they seemed to get these last two months, and John was desperate from something more. John understood they needed money—when _didn’t_ they—but he was tired of it always needing to be _Arthur_ on these trips. Damn, there were other gang members that needed to pull their weight. But, nah, Dutch seemed to always choose Arthur.

“You slept like the dead last night,” Arthur said, bringing John out of his thoughts. His eyes traveled up from those chapped lips to meet his blue eyes. “And you don’t look tired—”

“But I _feel_ tired,” John shot back. Arthur flipped his palms up, and John tightened his grip on the reins. Hosea was watching him, his eyes darting from John to Arthur, before back to John. John waved a hand at him. “I’m _fine_ , Hosea. I’m just fine.”

“All right, son. If you say so.” Silver Dollar adjusted slightly underneath Hosea. John dug his teeth into his cheek, hoping Dutch would get here soon so they wouldn’t be looking at him like that anymore. Apparently, Dutch had gotten into good graces with one of the local foremen at a ranch, and the foreman was tired of the ranch owners taking advantage of all their workers. They were to rob them, and redistribute it among the farmhands, which a large portion of it going to the gang. It was the type of shit Dutch loved, since he was giving people ‘what’s coming to ‘em’.

Too bad the foreman didn’t realize that none of the money was going to get back to them.

They continued to wait for Dutch; the South Williamsburg heat was beginning to get to all three of them. Arthur’s face was pale and ruddy; Hosea mopped at his forehead continuously. John swayed again in his saddle, getting concerned glances from both Arthur and Hosea, but neither said anything.

“When did Dutch say he was gonna get here?” John found himself asking, tightening his grip around the horn of his saddle. Hosea flicked out his pocket watch, squinting at it, before he carefully closed it and slid it back into his pocket.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer. This is a delicate— _John_?”

Searing white hot pain shot through his skull, and John slumped forward in his saddle, his hands desperately trying to hold onto the horn to keep him upright. He felt nauseous, like he was going to spew all over the ground beneath his horse. Suddenly, he lost control of his muscles, his grip loosening and he began to tilt to the left. Hurtling to the ground was the last thing he remembered before he passed out.

“. . . I’m telling you, Mister Morgan, Mister Matthews, there’s nothing wrong with that boy.”

“—And I’m telling _you_ , Miss Grimshaw, that no healthy boy just passes out like that—”

“—And what do you want me to say? It was probably the heat. Not drinking enough water. He ain’t thrown up, and there’s nothin’ that he’s done that’s even suggested he’s sick. He’s just hot.”

“Miss Grimshaw—”

“Look, if you really wanna be helpful, then go fill this with water,” there was the sound of water sloshing around inside a metal object, and Arthur let out a soft grunt as Miss Grimshaw, presumably, shoved the canteen into his chest. “He’s gonna need cold water. Go be useful, Mister Morgan, while Mister Matthews and I talk.”

The talking was starting to get real annoying to John, but he refused to get up. Everything still kind of hurt, and his throat was sore, but he was nice and comfortable underneath the canopy of Arthur’s wagon, with the sun no longer beating down on him. He was covered by a light sheet, but even that wasn’t enough to make his skin hot and itchy.

Bare skin brushed against the sheet, and John came to the startling realization that someone had striped him down to his underwear. Part of him wanted to throw a fit, to launch himself from the cot, but he was . . .

_Exhausted_.

The voices of Hosea and Miss Grimshaw faded out, leaving John alone to fall back into the light doze he had going on.

Well, he would have, if his hands hadn’t subconsciously cupped the underside of his stomach.

Suddenly, he was wide awake and he was in an upright position, his eyes wide. Thankfully, they had pulled the tarps down along the sides, giving John some privacy for once. His hands scrambled, grasping at his stomach, his eyes going wide as he felt the significant roundness to his stomach.

He tried to tell himself it was just from a lack a food—that happened, sometimes, didn’t it? When he didn’t eat frequently enough it happened. But he knew it was a lie—and cursed himself for even trying to tell himself that.

He knew what this type of _roundness_ was. It was tight and firm, like it had been when he got pregnant with Jack—

Oh, _Lord_.

He flopped back down onto the cot, staring up at the dark blue fabric of the canopy. Fuck that doctor. Fucking _fuck_ —John _knew_ he had some real concerns about being pregnant again—he wasn’t being _delusional_ —

He wanted to slam his head against the ground, but he figured if he did that, by the time Arthur returned he would have serious questions.

Oh.

Pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, John tried to push the thought of _Arthur_ out of his head. It had been so much easier, giving up Jack and not having to take responsibility for what happened. Hell, what was there to be responsible for? _He_ had been the one who was attacked—

_Don’t go there_.

Pulling his hands away from his face, John grasped at the light blanket that had been pushed to his hips, and tugged it up. He grasped at the fabric, and let out a shuddering breath. He thought of Isaac and Eliza, and just how devastated Arthur had been when they had died. It had been a long time before John had seen that kind of anger and stoniness to leave Arthur—and it still wasn’t gone. It was just . . . suppressed.

John knew he wouldn’t be able to that to him. Wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ give up this child. _At least, not to anyone in camp—_

That thought quickly sputtered out before it could even properly form. Giving up a child wouldn’t have been hard—hell, he did so with Jack—but the thought of Arthur kept popping up, and if Arthur ever found out—

God _fucking_ dammit.

He pulled himself to an upright position when the tarp pulled back, and Arthur stepped in. Arthur immediately looked relieved at seeing John awake, and he came to sit on the edge of the cot. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Sorry,” John apologized, taking the canteen from Arthur and immediately swallowing some of it down. He wasn’t oblivious to the looks Arthur was giving him, especially the looks of _worry_. “I’m fine, Arthur.”

“You sure? You just dropped like a fly.”

“I’m _fine_. Probably just needed some rest.” John frowned. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Dutch? The plan—”

Arthur let out a startled laugh. “Are you _serious_ right now? You fainted, fell off your horse, and you’re concerned as to why I’m not with _Dutch?_ ” At John’s frown, Arthur continued, “He had Mac and Davey go over instead. I ain’t leaving you.”

“You should’ve went. I’m fine.”

“I said I’m not _leaving_ you. Understand?”

John licked his lips. Then he nodded, and gulped down some more water. “Dutch probably didn’t like hearing that.”

“Dutch doesn’t like a lot of things.”

They sat in silence for a bit, John swallowing uncomfortably and he tried desperately to push the thought of . . . of the _second_ mistake out of his head.  
“You okay?” Arthur asked, pulling John’s gaze away from the ground.

John gave him a weak smile. “Yeah,” he said, lying through his teeth, “I’m great.”

**Author's Note:**

> want a commission? check out the info on my writblr, @demukarr ! if you're interested, contact me on one of the two sites below.  
> tip me on ko-fi: widowmakxrs  
> follow me on twitter: @heggsys  
> follow me on tumblr: @johnsmarstons


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